


Homework

by mirzimonstein



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirzimonstein/pseuds/mirzimonstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He knows he shouldn't be putting so much effort into it, but, as always, he gets carried away by his endless seek of beauty and perfection. He can't half-ass anything, not even this. Specially not this."<br/>A little one shot/drabble about domestic!Everlark's tiny little problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homework

**Author's Note:**

> Post epilogue daily life fluff that i came up the other day while i was on the bus :) hope you like it.  
> Not sure if completely canon.

 

It's been long since he has sculpt anything, so it takes his hands a little bit getting used to the hard wood he's working with; but, you know, he's an artist who has quite an amazing sense of concentration, if he's allowed to brag about it himself, and that's what makes his art beautiful. _It's not so much about talent_ -he always says- _as it is about hard work and focus._

 

He knows he shouldn't be putting so much effort into it, but, as always, he gets carried away by his endless seek of beauty and perfection. He can't half-ass anything, not even this. _Specially_ not this.

 

“ _Dad...”_

 

Birds are hard for him to even draw; their anatomy seems _so_ different than one of a human that it's always been one of the species he finds the most difficulty in capturing with his brush. Plus, they're always moving and running away, so observing them becomes a tricky task for him, who obviously prefers to watch them live instead of looking for pictures in books like some people tells him he should do.

 

“ _Daaaddy...”_

 

But, instead of making excuses for himself, he puts double effort into getting it right. Then again, something tells him he's probably overdoing it, that he should not be putting so much detail in it, but he's _in the zone_ now and you can't go back from there until the job is done.

 

Plus, it's a mockingjay! How can he find it in his heart to do a mediocre mockingjay, of all birds in freaking Panem? No. It's unthinkable. He lives with one. He's married to one. He won't allow himself to make it look anything less than _perfect_.

 

“ _Dad? Come on...”_

 

He chose to carve it flying, with it's wings full open. It's harder than making it just sitting on a tree branch, but he takes pleasure in a little bit of challenge. _But why am I doing this again? Uh... Uh?, Whatever, Nevermind._ He carves the wings details with very still hands, pressing the knife over the wood _oh_ so lightly to form the bird's feathers. It's almost done. Just one more touch.

 

The eyes.

 

He can't help but think of _her_ eyes. His Mockingjay's eyes, so grey and deep that once he got lost in them, there was no chance for him to turn back. And he got burned by her fire many, many times, but he never cared enough to walk away. He would be ashes for her. He would be the river she needed to swim in. The water. The contrast. The opposite. He would be the wind the Mockingjay needed in order to fly.

 

His mind drifts even deeper when he's carving the bird's eyes. If the rest was not perfect, this _had_ to be. So he presses and blows the excess, and then presses again, immersing himself in the fire of those orbs, in the passion they bring him every time he sees them. He does so until they are done.

 

Perfect.

 

He smiles to himself, admiring the finished work that took him so long - _how long was it?_ \- to finish.

 

And that's when he hears it.

 

“Daaaaad! You're doing it again!” The high pitched voice that was bugging him before blurts

 

“What? Doing what?” He questions, finally directing his attention to the olive skinned little girl sitting next to him. She facepalms dramatically shaking her head in a disapproving gesture “What now, Willow? It's perfect!” He defends himself proudly

 

But she's still a little angry “ _Yes!_ ”

 

“So what's the problem?” He asks his 8 year old daughter in a funny voice; but then he remembers “ _Oh_... Ooooh!” Shit

 

“Yes, _ooooh!_ ” She mocks him, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes in a gesture he swears he has seen over a thousand times before, just not in her

 

“I told you you had to tell me to stop! Why didn't you stop me this time?”

 

“Are you serious?” She raises her right eyebrow, another borrowed gesture “I did like a _thousand_ times, dad! I would have touched you, but I know you don't like it” She says, sadly.

 

The memories come to him and his face falls. It has happened before, he can't control it. More than once his arm has reacted by itself, shoving whoever dared to touch him away with unmeasurable strength, like he just got burned. Or injected. Or worse.

 

He pushed Willow once, when she was six and she touched his arm while he was painting whatever terrible horrors he dreamt of that night. He was sweating and shaking and she got scared when she entered the room and saw him. So she touched him. And he shover her. She hit herself on the head with the wall behind her and landed on her butt.

 

He cried for hours. She didn't talk to him in a week.

 

She scared to touch him now, how fucked up is that?

 

He shakes his head, pushing those memories away as fast as he can “I'm sorry, okay? I got--”

 

“-- carried away, I know, dad, but how is my teacher ever gonna believe I did this myself?” She points her finger to the way too elaborated wooden figure “It's too pretty! She's going to notice as soon as I walk into the classroom. I can't even draw a good circle!” She explains

 

“I know, I know” He blurts “But it's a mockingjay, Willow, you can't ask me to do a mediocre mockingjay, I just can't” He laughs and she rolls her eyes into infinity, facepalming again “Okay, okay, I can fix it, I will make it a little bit... you know...”

 

“Uglier?”

 

He scowls “No- not _uglier_ , but a little bit more like, you know... like _you_ made it”

 

“So uglier” She retorts

 

“Willow!” He exclaims, trying to contain his laughter “I swear to God you're so much like your mother, are you sure you're mine too? Sometimes I wonder...”

 

“Peeta Mellark!” He hears his wife's voice from the door right behind him. Shit. How longs has she been there? Damn her huntress feet “Are you relegating your daughter again?” She says smiling as she walks closer to them

 

“Hello mom, how was your hunting?” The little girl asks walking to her mother, stopping her mid-way and then shooting him a nervous warning gaze. He covers the bird with his body, but there's wood everywhere. This can't be good.

 

“It was good” Katniss answers, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead like she always does “What are you two up to?” Of course. Katniss Everdeen-Mellark can smell fear from ten miles away.

 

“Uhh, nothing?” He says, trying not to burst into laughter at all the looks his daughter is not-so-secretly firing him “It's just bonding time, you know, this girl needs to get better at art at some point”

 

“But you're not painting...” She narrows her eyes, walking closer to him “Show me”

 

“It's a surprise, mom!” Willow blocks her, brilliantly

 

“Yes, it's a surprise! You can't ruin it, Katniss, it will break out hearts” He pouts

 

“I hate surprises”

 

“I know but--”

 

“Peeta, show me” Katniss commands, fighting with her own laughter as she walks closer and closer trying to peek the object behind him “I can see you're lying. I was your partner in lies before I was your actual partner, you can't bullshit me”

 

“Katniss!” He scowls “Watch your language!”

 

“Ugh, I'm sorry.” She turns to their daughter “You can't say _bullshit_ , Willow, it's a forbidden word”

 

“Okay” The girl says and Peeta sighs

 

“ _Such_ a bad example” He shakes his head

 

“You're the one to talk!” She blurts finally reaching him “I bet I know what you were doing without even seeing it” She whispers “Move” And he does, guilt all over his face “ _Peeta_!” She exclaims when she sees the wooden bird.

 

“I'm sorry” He raises his hands "I just-"

 

“You're doing her homework again!” He stares at the floor, somehow ready to get grounded

 

“I asked him to! Please don't get mad!” Willow pouts in that adorable way she knows melts her mother's heart every time

 

“Oh my God, you two are unbelievable” She sighs

 

“What? The girl is failing art class, Katniss, _art class_! I can't have my daughter failing art class, are you crazy?” He says matter-of-factly

 

“Peeta, you _can't_ do your 8 year old's homework anymore, end of discussion.”

 

“Yeah?, well, you did her herbs research!” He points his finger to her and shes gasps loudly, immediately directing her eyes to their daughter

 

“What? I didn't tell him” The girl says, rising her hands

 

“A-há! I knew it” He crosses his arms “It was too elaborated...”

 

“Well, enough!” Katniss exclaims, turning her whole attention to her daughter “You, miss, need to start doing your own homework”

 

“I know, I know. But mom--”

 

“No _but_ 's”

 

“No but I had to carve my favorite animal into a piece of wood and I wanted a mockingjay so bad” She pouts again “You know I can't do it myself and I can't be the Mockingjay's daughter and arrive to class with the ugliest bird, everyone expects better than that, you know” She crosses her arms

 

“I'm not the Mockingjay anymore, Wee, you know that” Katniss says, kneeling down in front of her daughter

 

"You will always be, mom" The little girl whispers "And I hate that dad can make the prettiest things and I can't even draw anything, why can't I paint like him?"

 

"Oh, Wee-Wee, that's because you can't be good at everything, you only get to be good at somethings. Your dad can draw, but he can't haunt to save his life" Katniss sighs

 

"Hey!"

 

  
"AND-" She continues "I can't draw, or paint or cook or bake or even talk properly, like he can" She winks at him "but I'm very good at being silent and with the bow, see? That's why we are such a good team, he and I... after all this years" He swears he feels a light turning up inside of him "That's the only reason we are here now" She adds, sadly. 

 

“I still don't want to be the one with the worst animal” The girl says after a little silence "Please, mommy, please, just this time, I don't want to fail--"

 

“Ugh, Okay, okay!” Katniss sighs, rolling her eyes and smiling “But just this once, or I swear to God, Peeta--”

 

He grins “I know, I know, It's the last time, I swear” But he winks secretly to his daughter

 

“It's what you said the _last_ time” She says

 

“Thank you, mom!” Willow says, giving her mother a wet and long kiss on her left cheek, to which Peeta joins, kissing her on the right one

 

“Okay, okay, you little liars” She pushes them away -only after they've been kissing her for a while- and stands up, pretending to clean her face with her hunting jacket. Peeta and Willow chuckle at the gesture, she does that every time, but he knows she loves it when they kiss her like that. Secretly. “You two are gonna have to--” She starts, but it's interrupted mid sentence by a little high pitched cry in the front room “Saved by the bell” She whispers to him, walking out of the room

 

Peeta and his daughter look at each other victoriously when Katniss turns her back on them.

 

“But, you know” she adds, right before leaving the room “you're gonna have to make it look uglier or they're never gonna buy that she made it, Mellark” and she leaves

 

“ _Uglier_ ” He sighs, rolling his eyes at the word, which might have become his least favorite word ever.

 

“Told ya” The girl says, raising her shoulders

 

By the time he's done carving and filing out some of the details, Katniss is back into the room with a rosy, blonde toddler who just drank too much milk in her arms, patting him softly in the back as he sucks into his fingers like there's no tomorrow.

 

“Look” Peeta says, showing her the wooden bird to his wife “It's not my best work but--”

 

“It's perfect” She interrupts “Everything you do is” He smiles, feeling a lump on his throat when he takes the whole image in. This is Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, the Mockingjay, holding their 9 months old son, Rye, in her arms, as if they didn't went through helland back _(twice)_ to get the simplicity of what they have right now; and, in that brief second, he wishes he could tell his old self, there in that cold cell, that a few years from there, this will be the things troubling him the most. His daughter's homework. That she's failing art class. “You okay?” Katniss asks softly, reaching for his hand with her free one. He pushes dark thoughts out of his head for the second time today and kisses her on the lips gently.

 

“Never been better”

 

And boy does he mean it.

**Author's Note:**

> so? I'm thinking in making a series of little one shots with this kind of fluffy subjects under the name of "The blissful little problems we have now" but yeah, i'm a new writer so i'm just gonna see how it goes with this one :)  
> Please comment! it means the world to me.  
> PS: I don't have a beta and i'm not a native english speaker, so i'm double sorry about any typos and mistakes you found!  
> pss: if you're interested in beta'ing, please contact me, i'm starting to work on a multichapter.


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